


A Rose of Many Thorns

by HoneyGrunge



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, One Shot, Painful Sex, Rape, Short One Shot, Vagina Dentata
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22780321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyGrunge/pseuds/HoneyGrunge
Summary: A young and wounded Geralt of Rivia wanders into a human-turned-succubus' forest.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 54
Collections: Explicit Stories





	A Rose of Many Thorns

**Author's Note:**

> CW!!!!! Blood and injury
> 
> Yes I know in witcher 3 succubi are goats for their bottom halves (afaik) but a little canon bending never hurt nobody, riiiight?

He stumbled into her forest late, arriving between the setting of the great skyflame and the reign of the gracious moon. His disruption stung, piercing her guarded peace, nearly driving her to madness with his noise and the heavy stench of his inhuman blood. And yet, she did not Gather. Not yet. He was intriguing; a pariah like her, it seemed. Being totally alone, he had to mend his wounds quickly before the blackness swallowed him. His injuries’ cloying red nectar sank down into the soil below and cursed her lovingly cultivated flowers with their stain. 

Despite that, on the first night she watched from the tree boughs above, drawn close by a delicious scent lightly wafting from beneath the violence of his sanguine suffering. The chypre temptation nearly drew her out into the open, but she knew she couldn’t risk it. Even weak, he was strong, able enough to burn her with his silver and spells. So she kept hidden, slipping away once Sister Sleep had claimed him. This one night she would allow him, time enough to gather adequate strength before she took what she needed: his essence.

This small mercy he was granted, though she knew he would not see it as such.

They never did.

  
  
  
  


The second night came slowly, her hunger only growing sharper the nearer it drew. Thankfully he moved slowly during the time of the Mother Star, for its heat was unforgiving. Time stretched until the waiting became almost unbearable. She’d never been happier to see the skyflame fall. It had been too long since she had come across a man and reaped his sorely-given offering to keep herself alive. Last time it had been a woman, but that was not preferable. It was bloody and loud, not to mention women rarely survived. Neither did the succubi for that matter, since the screams drew their predators from far and wide.

When the Daughter Star rose he finally halted, his life force ebbing on the periphery of her senses. It tasted delicious even from this distance, but she could not sample it for fear of him discovering her. So she waited until the ebb of his force calmed, and its waves morphed from rippled to smooth. The low tide of sleep passed quickly and finally he was drowned in the high waters of his dreams, allowing her to wander into the edge of his camp.

His earthy, masculine scent was so pungent now that she could barely draw breath. It was intoxicating, and paired with his exotic argent hair it made for the catch of a century. She briefly feared that it would be too much for her, that perhaps this time she had bitten off more than she could chew. Unable to help it, she smirked at the joke and squatted next to him, tracking his eyes as they darted about through his hidden adventures. Hopefully he would not fight hard enough to necessitate her biting through him. It would be such a waste.

Most prey she did not care for, but this specimen was akin to her. And thus, he should survive relatively unscathed. Some compassion still stirred deep inside her, though it was well buried beneath the stratified years of her brutal life.

She cast the spell, even though she knew it would not buy her much time. He plummeted deeper into his dream so she moved quickly, mounting him and reaching down to tug open his trousers. His silver brow knitted and he wriggled like a netted fish, but a gentle caress to the cheek sent him tumbling back down the stairs of wakefulness. He sighed and she stroked his beautiful column, settling herself over him once her spell had woven the sensual dream and eased him to full hardness. Then, his body went stiff and his eyelids snapped open. She plunged herself down with a hiss, unprepared for his impressive girth yet desperate for this Gathering.

“ _ F-fuck! _ ” he spluttered, yellow eyes opening wide as his slitted pupils narrowed to stiletto points. His broad hand shot up towards her throat but appropriately froze in shock when she clenched her nether mouth. She could feel his terror spike as her fangs locked around his base, then even more so when her predatory secondary teeth pricked the tender, pale skin of his shaft hard enough to draw miniscule pinpoints of blood.

“ _ Hhckkh _ ,” he choked, knees drawing up and thumping into her back. He grabbed fistfuls of earth and whimpered, the noise rising in pitch when she tightened even harder around him in warning. The bite quickly tamed him, and although he was growing flaccid she knew her venom would turn him to steel again within seconds. He stared up at her with pained yet calculating eyes, desperately searching for any way to abruptly end her Gathering - and her life - as efficiently as possible.

“Do not struggle,” she whispered, watching as he relaxed and his muscles melted into the venom. Although his eyes still burned with petrified rage, he kept his tongue behind his teeth and pressed it to the roof of his mouth in an attempt to keep his tears from falling. Eventually he failed, his face twisting into pure desperation and pain when she started to ride him, mercifully retracting her anchors to keep from shredding him, yet still causing pain as her slick warmth slipped over his horribly sensitive wounds. The tears made him look far younger; as far as Witchers go it was difficult to discern an age, but judging from a human perspective he could not be any more than twenty-five or thirty years old. Learned enough to know about her rare species of succubi, but not yet experienced enough to be constantly guarded against their dangers.

“Do not fight me and I promise it will not get any worse,” she panted, guilt arcing through her breast when she caught a red flash of his blood on his own belly. Perhaps she’d bitten him a little harder than she’d meant to. “I don’t exactly have a choice either, you know. I must survive. Somehow. Like you.”

His tears slowed and his breath hitched as his hysteria calmed, deep humiliation mixing with the hate and pain pouring from his eyes. She couldn’t help but snort.

“Relax, you’re not the first one to cry like a newborn babe at the threat of your prick being bitten off. Not even the first Witcher. Now please, try to relax.”

She doubled her efforts and he turned his face away, refusing to make eye contact when her venom began to transform his pain into pleasure. His legs loosened and his knees straightened while his fingers tightly clutched the soft fabric of his undershirt. He let out a tiny moan and his eyes fluttered shut, his fight breaking and allowing him to succumb to her forceful pleasure.

“I’m not even able to seed a woman, you’re wasting your time,” he muttered, clenching his jaw to bite back a particularly wanton groan. Sweat slipped down his brow as the succubus fever set in, and now his eyes were wandering up to meet her soft, full breasts. 

“It is not the seed I need, it is your essence,” she explained, stroking the soft down of his happy trail and measuring the now broken rhythm in his tiny thrusts. His hips stuttered and he finally choked out an orgasmic keen, booted heels kicking deep into the soft earth and the muscles of his lower back convulsing in the strongest climax he’d ever experienced in his life to date. She felt him fill her and greedily clenched again, swallowing every last drop until he yelped out in pain and frantically reached down in a vain attempt to shove her off, terrified that she’d actually bitten clean through him this time. As soon as she’d Gathered her fill she dismounted and left him to hiss through his teeth in both relief and agony, but his stamina was still strong enough to let him clutch his silver sword and swing it fast as lightning in a starless sky. The metal caught her throat and blazed through every layer of her skin, but it did not cut deep enough to kill. She could not tell then if it was the exhaustion or the mercy that stayed his hand, but he collapsed backwards and watched her with a now neutral expression.

“I am sorry that you must live like this, as a monster,” he muttered, even weaker than before now that she’d stolen from his life force.

“I’m sorry too...for you and myself,” she said, taking one last look at him and turning to escape back into the forest. Before she left she cast a spell of protection, guarding from any other beasts of this cursed forest that might come across him during his post-Gathering slumber. 

Perhaps, these Witchers...they understood. Perhaps they could lift her curse, or at least help. But she was still alive, and there was no guarantee that would remain true if she stepped foot in their stronghold to beg for a curse breaking.

So she went on her way, consuming his essence and preparing for another year hidden in silent darkness. 


End file.
